


a ruler and thief

by MiniNephthys



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Dream Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spoilers, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 13:53:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5419508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniNephthys/pseuds/MiniNephthys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asgore has a dream, and lets go of the burden of command for a moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a ruler and thief

Tonight, Asgore dreams in black and white.

Black, mostly. It’s dark where he is, too dark to make out much, and though he feels fairly lucid he’s also certain that he’s fast asleep. It’s a strange combination. He’s usually not aware that he’s dreaming until after the dreams are over.

Without sight to guide him, he feels around. He thinks this is his own bed in his own room, but it’s impossible to tell for sure: it could be anyone’s king-sized bed.

Before he can do too much investigating, he hears a voice. It’s quiet, but not so quiet that he can’t make it out clearly. Gentle, perhaps, would be a better word.

“Sire.”

Asgore doesn’t recognize the voice, but that’s no reason not to answer them politely. “Why, yes?”

“You look so tense.”

He doesn’t know how anyone can make out anything in this darkness. He doesn’t know what direction the voice is coming from, either. It seems to be everywhere all at once, and yet still just as soft.

Since this is only a dream, he’s more readily able to admit things like, “Rulership does not allow me to relax very much, I am afraid.”

“It never has,” the voice agrees, and Asgore begins to get the inkling feeling that perhaps he should recognize the owner, after all. “Let’s relieve you of the burden of command, sire.”

“What do you mean-?” he begins to ask, and then the sensation of a tendril of something stroking down his neck distracts him from words entirely. It’s wet, but there’s definitely something solid underneath, soft and sending him shivers as it slips down his nightshirt.

Another whatever it is slides underneath the bottom of his shirt. He thinks they should be ticklish at best, but their slow stroking is more pleasant than that. He shivers.

“If you would like this to stop now, or later,” the voice continues, perfectly even and calm, “please say so. It is only a dream, after all.”

Asgore is relieved by that confirmation, because it might be a bit strange in real life to lie here trembling as more of the tentacles start pulling off his shirt, and he doesn’t have to worry when they rip it in the process. For lack of anything better to do besides whimper, he reaches out, finds another tendril and rubs his thumb over the tip of it.

“Your Majesty is always so kind,” the voice says, and he thinks he can hear a bit of a smile there, if whoever’s speaking has a mouth at all. “Please raise your hips.”

He does as told without thinking. The other half of his pajamas goes the way of the first.

When a pair of tentacles curl around his cock, wet and rippling continuously over him, he does more than whimper. He gasps, moans, grips what’s in his hand a bit more tightly than he meant to before letting go with a choked attempt at apology that contains no actual words.

The voice seems to understand his intent. “You have nothing to be sorry for, sire, and no one to apologize to.”

There’s another tendril behind him, gently and slowly pushing inside. The feeling is slightly discomforting, but not painful, and it’s long enough to brush something inside of him that makes his hips jerk. He thinks he hears a chuckle before another slim tentacle joins the first.

Everything around him, inside of him, is dark and warm and wet. He shudders, not worrying about holding back his voice, not worrying about seeming wanton, not worrying about the hundreds of burdens on his shoulders, for once simply letting go and enjoying the moment for what it is: a fleeting dream.

The voice is murmuring, and as Asgore’s head gets fuzzier it’s harder to make out the words, but he thinks he catches “good” and “yes, just relax, just like that” and “Asgore, I-”.

He spills white that is quickly swallowed up by the darkness. A soft brush against his cheek disappears as quickly as it came, and then he is alone.

Asgore has no more dreams for the rest of the night.


End file.
